


Tequila and Cheetos

by MissJeeves



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-23
Updated: 2011-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-15 00:57:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissJeeves/pseuds/MissJeeves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's mutual and not entirely about Rodney.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tequila and Cheetos

The friendly Sicilians – or whatever, it sounded close to that and John Sheppard was entirely too drunk to remember the actual Pegasus name – gifted Atlantis with a massive amount of something chemically identical to potato vodka. Usually Richard Woolsey would hide 90% of that kind of thing under the pretense of conducting safety analyses, but some brilliant science geek bypassed him, and that was how Atlantis had an enormous party and got collectively plastered.

Sheppard was just trying to go home before he hooked up with the new pretty Marine captain, or at least before he totally inappropriately caressed the fantastic ass she kept thrusting into his leg. He was just sober enough to remember he wasn’t allowed to do that, and drunk enough to forget that there were entirely too many cameras in this city to record his spastic dancing like an idiot to the latest music – pop crap he didn’t even recognize – downloaded from Earth.

He was drunk enough to dance, in the first place. So it was time to go home.

Sheppard staggered to the transporter and slapped it open. Its doors slid apart and he ducked inside. He moved maybe a little faster than his fermented brain liked, because the world tilted a bit and he had to grab the wall as the doors slid shut.

“Wait!” He heard a woman yell, and eventually he realized that woman was inside the transporter with him. “Dammit,” Jennifer Keller said from the floor of the opposite corner.

He blinked at her. “What are you…?”

She stared up at him. “Transporter’s broken,” she said. She sounded a little, well, altered. He saw a bottle clutched between her knees and understood. He probably wasn’t allowed to judge, but it was funny to see their CMO sacked out in a short skirt and booze.

“Broken?” he echoed.

“I was trying to go the party,” she said, sadly. “And it wouldn’t let me out. “Or,” she squinted suspiciously, “Rodney programmed it to lock me up.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Sheppard said. He paused. “Least not without bragging about it to someone who’d come let you out.”

Jennifer shrugged, then watched as Sheppard tried to get the keypad to light up for him.

“Hmm,” he said. “Not Rodney.”

“Unless he’s mad at you, too,” Jennifer said.

Sheppard decided that sitting looked a lot more comfortable than standing. He lowered himself to the floor and stretched his legs out.

“He’s not that mad,” Sheppard said. “He’s just, you know, whiney.” Jennifer nodded. “Why didn’t you yell for help?” He could hear the speakers thumping through the door, unsure it’d do any good.

She shrugged again, then lifted the bottle between her legs. “The music’s too loud. And I have tequila.” She waved the bottle. “I was going to share but it’s mine.” Jennifer leaned back against the wall and something crinkled. “Oh. I also have cheetos.” She pulled the bag out from behind her back.

“I was wondering why your mouth is orange,” Sheppard said, helping himself to a handful.

“I don’t have any salt,” she said. “It’ll do.”

Sheppard didn’t totally agree. He liked cheetos and tequila, but they didn’t go together.

“I wanted to go the party,” Jennifer said, pouting. “Did people think I didn’t go ‘cause I broke up with Rodney?”

“People were too drunk to care,” he said. “And I think Rodney’s telling people he broke up with you.”

“Hmm.” Jennifer grabbed a cheeto, chomped it, then took a swig of tequila. “It was like a shi-shi-shi-multaenoush quitting and getting fired.”

John raised his hands, almost boggled the cheetos bag. “I don’t want to know, Jennifer.”

She nodded in understanding. “Okay. Want some tequila?”

He did, so he shifted down the wall until he was next to her. She smelled of alcohol and some floral perfume.

“I don’t have any glasses.” She stuck the bottle out to him.

That was how Sheppard ended up with his face buried in Jennifer’s skirt. Okay, he didn’t quite know how, but it probably involved drunken lurching.

Her skirt was hiked up so he could see her underwear: it was purple. He didn’t know how long they’d been in here, but the air was thick and warm with no circulation. Sheppard felt hot, sticky, and overdressed.

“Comfy?” Jennifer asked, peering down at him.

“Mmf.” Sheppard sat up. “Want more tequila,” he said. “And don’t get excited, but I’m taking my clothes off.”

Jennifer giggled while he stripped himself down to his t-shirt and then, upon further consideration, his boxers.

“Hot,” he explained.

“I agree.”

Music was still blasting outside the transporter. Apparently, no one else had tried to leave.

Jennifer rucked up her tank top until it sat below her breasts. Sheppard almost told her she could take it off and it wouldn’t bother him.

“Cheetos aren’t the same as salt,” she said, sadly, crumpling up the empty bag and tossing it at the door.

John smirked, then hid it with his hand.

Jennifer squinted at him. “What?”

“We should do body shots,” he said. “We’re sweating enough.”

She blinked at him. “Okay.” And with that, she upended the bottle over her torso, spilling a shot across her belly. He stared at it, rivulets running down her belly and soaking the edge of her skirt. “Well?”

“I didn’t expect you to do that,” he admitted.

Jennifer shrugged. “You told me to,” she retorted.

“I did.”

He leaned forward again, sweeping his tongue across her hot, tequila-covered skin. He half-expected her to smack him away, but she didn’t. He twirled his tongue in her naval, made her laugh and grab his hair.

She was sort of shoving him down, so he went. Past the waist band of her skirt, so he caught it with his teeth and yanked it down, too.

Jennifer made a surprised sound, but let him take down her skirt, then lifted her hips off the ground so he could pull it and her panties off completely.

“Okay,” she said, as he settled between her legs and pushed her inner thighs apart. “Really?”

He answered by putting his mouth to her, eliciting a gasp as all the muscles in her legs tensed up.

She let him work on her for a little, making happy little humming noises that told him he was doing it right. Otherwise, she was quiet and shuddering.

Eventually she pulled him out by the ears, which kind of hurt.

“Lemme do you,” she said, reaching for his crotch.

“There’s a number for this,” he told her, letting her yank his boxers down and free his erection.

They curled around each other in a shape that could have been a sixty-nine, except Jennifer was now kind of crushing his head with her legs as she enthusiastically went down on him, so their form left something to be desired.

She was good, though, taking him so deep he got a little distracted from his work.

Orgasm built along his spine and his hips twitched reflexively. He had to hold back from thrusting into her face.

He pinched her lightly on the thigh as a warning and she pulled away.

Then, she giggled, which was not something Sheppard loved hearing during sex.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and laughed harder. Jennifer sat up and actually dabbed at her eyes. “The cheetos turned your dick orange,” she said, and absolutely howled.

All of Sheppard’s blood was flowing away from his brain, straight to his now neglected erection. He sat up and glanced down, didn’t really see what she was talking about. It was red and desperate, not cheeto-orange.

“Okay,” he said, and stroked himself. “Please?”

Jennifer finally stopped laughing long enough to remember his predicament.

“Oh, of course.”

And then she was straddling him, holding him by the base and aiming him towards her sex. Which wasn’t what he’d expected, but was also okay.

“Um, condoms?” he asked, when it was too late and he was already sheathed inside her. If she pulled off, he thought he might actually die.

“I’m a doctor,” she said, breathily, which didn’t really answer his question.

“Okay,” he agreed, and took that as permission to start thrusting.

She put his hands on her breasts and moved with him, until the fire started along his spine again. He flipped them over so she was on the bottom, trying to delay it so he could stay just a little longer. Jennifer was still wearing her tank top, and he tried to take it off, one-handed. It was tangled around her neck, so he finally gave it one hard pull and shredded the fabric.

“Sorry,” he said, tossing it away, and burying his face in her breasts.

Jennifer just tightened her legs around him, and that sent him over the edge.

Afterward, he was still drunk. Drunk and happily sated, and really sleepy. Jennifer didn’t mind that he passed right out, using her thighs as a pillow. She did, however, steal his t-shirt, rip its sleeves off, then put it on and knot it just below her breasts.

Her movements jostled him, and he watched dimly, wondering if he should tell her that replacing her ripped tank top with that did nothing to conceal the fact that she was missing her shirt.

Hopefully, whoever discovered them would be too drunk to notice the sex-filled air and deduce the fact that the CMO and CO had both surrendered to the aphrodisiac properties of tequila and cheetos.

As Sheppard was getting redressed, he did briefly stop to check that his dick was not in fact the color of cheetos.


End file.
